


Empty Home

by DolorousDoll



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Churches, Confessions, Events take place right after 3x10, Family Feels, Gen, Isaac and Stiles just need to be bro's okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DolorousDoll/pseuds/DolorousDoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac’s going to get his family back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Home

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so it occurred to me that both Isaac and Stiles would be going back to empty houses and I just got a bunch of feels so I decided to write like a drabble / thought process thing anyway I tried to keep it short and sweet. I have no Beta so if there's any mistakes - my bad. 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think. 
> 
> Dolorous Doll
> 
> X

Isaac’s hair and clothes are damp with sweat and rainwater, his skin feels gritty and unclean.

He pauses outside the McCall house and stares. All the lights are off, the newly planted gerberas half dug up from the day Mellissa had planted them and then changed her mind on where she wanted them to be.

Isaac’s hands are shaking lightly and it takes him a few tries to get the keys into the door and open it. He’s still learning how to identify scents and where abouts it is that they’re coming from but the smell of the house is distinct except now it makes Isaac feel mournful because neither Scott nor Melissa are here.

 It’s only the three of them living here but it’s never quiet. Sometimes it’s the sound of Melissa bustling around in the kitchen tapping the end of a wooden spoon against the saucepan to the beat of the song she has playing on the mini kitchen radio. Scott does the same thing when he cooks and Isaacs wonders if he’s noticed how many traits he shares with his mother. Other times it’s the insistent hum of the outdoor light, or the fifth step on the stairs that creaks. It’s him and Scott tussling in the backyard, the quick patter of feet and the odd breathless laugh, there’s the appreciative hum and clatter of cutlery when they sit down every Tuesday to eat Mrs. McCalls tantalizing lamb pot roast.

Isaac shuts the door behind him with more force than necessary, the sound echoes’ mockingly.

He ambles into the living room and flicks the light on. His fingers feel numb.

The first thing he sees are his and Scott’s trainers, the soles covered in mud from when they had gone running through the forest only to collapse onto the couch when they got home. They’d back and forthed over who should go into the kitchen to get them drinks, both boys lazily pushing at the other in an attempt to get the other up. Isaac had ended up doing it; he’s always had a hard time denying Scott.  He ended up making them sandwiches ham and pickle for Scott and chicken mayo for himself.  

Isaac had plopped down on the sofa next to Scott and handed him his plate.

Scott had looked down at his plate and frowned. “Where’s my chips?” He’d asked and Isaac had gaped at the audacity of the question before he turned to Scott and saw the large cheeky grin the other had on his face.

“Get your own damn chips.” Isaac had replied before shoving his sandwich into his mouth.

“Worst slave ever.”  Scott joked and in retaliation Isaac shoved his smelly sock clad feet into Scott’s lap.

Scott had leant forward and carefully placed his plate onto the coffee table before turning to stare at Isaac. “What?” Isaac mumbled words muffled by the food in his mouth.  “You asked for it Lahey.” Scott said before throwing Isaac’s feet off of his lap and lunging at him. Isaac choked on his sandwich as the air was knocked out of him as well as the plate. It clattered to the floor and Isaac laughed happily as he hooked his arm around Scott’s head, putting him into a chokehold and tackling him to the floor.  

They’d ended up sprawled across the floor after, breathless and even sweatier than they had been from the run.

“Still don’t see my chips.” Scott had commented and Isaac had grinned before throwing a couch cushion at his head.

The next thing Isaac sees is the washing basket filled to the rim with clothes, some of them are half folded some hanging over the edge of the basket.

Isaac knows Melissa hates when the laundry isn’t done because she always berates Isaac and Scott about it. ‘ _No it isn’t okay to wear the same socks three days in a row Scott’._

Isaac starts folding up the clothes because he wants the house to be nice for when Melissa comes back because she will, _she will_ and so will Scott.

He sorts the piles into three, his Scott’s and Melissa’s before taking them up to the rooms.

The house is eerily quiet and Isaac can’t stand it anymore, can’t stand feeling hopeless. If he’d have stayed, if he had waited for Scott then maybe Scott wouldn’t have gone off with Deucalion. The guilt is insufferable and folding a bit of laundry isn’t going to help. Isaac growls when he feels the wetness of tears in his eyes. He doesn’t want to be sad or scared anymore, that’s all he ever is, he wants to be brave, he wants to be helpful. He wants his family back.

/

Isaac’s not entirely sure where he’s going, the only thing he’s certain of is that he can’t go back home not until everyone who’s supposed to be there _is_ there.

His trainers scuff the pavement, his hair resting in salt smelling curls over his forehead. He stops when he spots a church; it looks simultaneously frightening and welcoming. There’s spot lights around it and a sign at the front with a cross on it saying _‘god welcomes all_ ‘. The last time Isaac had been near a church was for his father’s funeral.  He couldn’t risk going in there because he’d been wanted by the police at the time but Derek said he’d give him five minutes. Five minutes to say goodbye or to cry or to reveal in his father’s death? Isaac wasn’t sure.

He’d watched from a distance as the Pallbearers carried his father’s casket through the large double doors of the church.  The moment the end of the mahogany casket disappeared through those doors Isaac turned and walked away stopping when he reached Derek who was standing a few steps behind him.

“Thank you.” Isaac had said. Derek only gave a curt nod but it had been comforting the fact that Derek had been there

Isaac wonders that had he of chosen to enter the church would he be allowed? A church is a place for those who are good, it’s on holy ground. It repels bad doers and evil creatures and Isaac isn’t good, hasn’t been for a long time. He’s a supernatural creature, the _unnatural._ There’s nothing that indicates that creatures such as him would still go to heaven, would still be allowed in a place of God.

Isaac hasn’t prayed in a long time, he supposes he just thought that whoever was listening wasn’t anymore.  He takes a couple of steps forward until he reaches the doors of the church which are open. He can smell the old dusty curls of parchment, the lavender scented tablets they’ve placed into the toilets, the wax from burning candles.

His foot falters half way to the ground as he goes to step into the church, when his foot is half on the tiled entrance and half on the stone ground he pauses, shuts his eyes and breaths in deep before stepping into the church.  Maybe werewolves aren’t considered to be evil entities after all.

The church is mostly empty when he walks in. A nun who’s placing out leaflets between the pews raises her head at the sound of him entering. She smiles gently and he offers her one back though he can feel it waver on his face.  He turns away in an attempt to avoid her eyes, their too open and warm and he just needs a moment to collect himself. It’s strange, he feels as if he wants to talk to someone, needs to talk to someone in order to get this heavy feeling in his chest to dissipate but suddenly the idea of talking to the nun makes him feel panicked. She must have some sort of understanding of how he’s feeling because when he looks back over to her she’s unobtrusively placing out more leaflets.

He walks up to the large alter at the head of the church, blue eyes flickering over the hundreds of lit candles. He takes a taper from the side and uses an already lit candle to ignite it. He then lights his own, three of them. One for Scott, one for Mrs. McCall and one for Sherriff Stilinski. Isaac closes his eyes after he’s lit all three.

“Hi. I know I haven’t spoken to you in a while.” He starts, shakily and a little guiltily. He’d never been good with addressing God within prayers he preferred to speak to him like he would a friend, leaving out titles. His eyes are still closed shut unable to look at the rest of the world, unable to witness how truly messed up his life is at the moment. The blackness behind his eyelids is uncomplicated and peaceful, it makes it easier to admit and pray as he is now.

“I’m not...I’m not a good person. I haven’t been in a really long time, but I want to change I _will_ change.  I just... I need you to look after them, to protect them until I can find them. I know I’m asking for a lot and I’m not entirely sure if I even deserve your help.” A sharp intake of breath. “ I’ve sinned. A lot.  I’ve considered killing people; I’ve wanted to, innocent people at that. Sometimes I think I’m going to turn out like my dad but Scott, Scott and Mrs. McCall...they pull me away from that, they show me I can be good. Be how I was before.” Isaac sucks in a breath and let’s it out shakily, eyes still shut, hands fisted by his sides. He feels vulnerable and uneasy; his tear wet eyes hot like hellfire.   “I’ve lusted after my best friends ex girlfriend; I’ve hurt people all out of a ploy for more power, for acceptance.  But I’m here to ask for your forgiveness, to ask that you watch over Scott and Mrs. McCall, over the Sherriff and Derek, especially Derek. I think he needs someone like you more than he’d like to admit. “

Isaac slowly opens his eyes, fingers compulsively pulling at the sleeve of his top that hangs over his fingers.  The candles he lit are flickering, casting their shadows across the walls.

“Care for Boyd and Erica, for Cora and Stiles, for Allison and Lydia, for their parents and loved ones, for Peter ...even Peter. Care for my family and give me the strength to be there for them and I promise I’ll be a better person, one worthy to walk into your house.”

Isaac looks up at the large cross scaled across the wall.  He doesn’t look back when he leaves.

/

Isaac’s walking and this time he knows where he’s going.  He half expects for Stiles not to be there but he is, in the same clothes he wore to the music recital, the same clothes he’s been wearing for days actually. He smells like anguish and frustration, his eyes red rimmed and sore looking when he answers the door.

“What do you want?” he asks, stuffy nose muffling his words. The greetings not exactly welcoming but its better than the alternative, Isaac was half expecting for the door to be slammed in his face.

Isaac pushes himself away from where he had been leaning against the doorframe.  He shrugs, goes for carefree and a devil may care attitude but inside he’s terrified.

“Well I was planning to go and get our family back, thought you might wanna help.” Isaac says and Stiles’ eyes widen slightly.

“You want my help?” Stiles asks and along with sounding exhausted he sounds surprised, like Isaac wouldn’t go to him. Isaac can’t think of anyone who’s smarter than Stiles, of anyone who has the tact and the heart to do something like this. To go up against an Alpha Pack and a Durach with no fear.

Isaac wishes he were more like Stiles when he was human. He’s brave yet so breakable. Isaac had only gotten the confidence for such bravado once he had the power of the supernatural at his fingertips or rather – claws.

Isaac nods feels uncouth as Stiles watches him wearily. After a minute or so Stiles nods before opening the door and turning away, leaving it open for Isaac.

Isaac takes a step through and jumps when Stiles shouts back at him.

“Take your shoes off, I don’t want you tracking mud in the house.”  Isaac rolls his eyes but does as he’s told.

He follows Stiles upstairs and instead of going to Stiles’ room he follows the other teens scent to the far end of the hall.  He walks through into what looks like an office. Stiles is standing with his back ramrod straight and his arms folded across his chest. He’s staring at a steel door.  Isaac steps up beside him before placing his hand on the door, letting his palm and fingers run down it slowly.

“What’s this?” Isaac asks quietly.

“In pace, ut sapiens, aptarit idonea bello.” Stiles replies and Isaac knows Stiles is speaking in Latin but he has no idea what he just said.  Isaac doesn’t ask.

Stiles pulls one arm away from his chest, fingers faltering a bit before he taps a six digit number code into the key pad system on the right side of the door.

“My mom’s birthday.”  Stiles says and Isaac is too busy watching him that he startles when the door clicks and the light above the key pad turns from a red to a green. He pulls his hand away in time for the door to slide open revealing a small arsenal.  Isaac whistles impressed.

“This all your dads?” Isaac asks as Stiles starts pulling out guns and straps and cases of bullets.

Stiles nods jaggedly.

“So what’s your big plan?” Stiles asks as he places a gun down and reaches back into the weapons closet.

“Umm well I didn’t really have one.” Isaac says, laughing a little nervously.

Stiles stops and turns to him with an eyebrow raised and a – is that a flamethrower- in his hand.

“I guess no plan will have to do, ours haven’t really worked out for us so far anyway.” Stiles supplies.

“We’ll get them back though.”  Isaac assures.  Stiles turns to him and smiles, it’s vulnerable and his eyes are still wet with tears but there’s a promise there too, a determined brightness. Isaac smiles back.  Their eyes break away when Stiles grabs a shotgun. He cocks it before replying.

“I know.”

/

**Author's Note:**

> Oh by the way the Latin phrase that Stiles says means - In peace, like a wise man, he appropriately prepares for war. I dunno I just thought it was really fitting for them like even in times of peace they expect something bad to happen and have to prepare for it, that’s why those weapons are there as a keep safe – as protection.
> 
> And yes the number code for the Sheriff's arsenal closet is Stiles' mums birthday, I didn't know whether I made that clear or not.


End file.
